Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats: it's a three-fer keeper

It's not often that a book serendipitously meets multiple aims, uniting literary tastes and everyday life. But when it does happen, it's a beautiful thing. My daughter and I are reading the new edition of T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. It is an absolutely perfect selection right here, right now, because:

1) April is National Poetry Month! We're expanding our reading horizons and making bedtime poetry time;

2) Poetry is one of the categories I have selected for the 10-10-10 Reading Challenge. This will qualify towards my reading requirement;

3) We are going to see Cats on Thursday.

That Harcourt Children's Books has provided a bright new edition at this time is simply fantastic. Illustrated by Axel Scheffler, probably best known in this country for his collaborations with Julia Donaldson (think, The Gruffalo,) the practical cats have never looked more cheeky and full of Jellicle charm.

I first read this book back in the 80's, during the Lloyd-Webber craze, and to be honest--it didn't make a lot of sense at the time. I couldn't find Memory, for starters. And I didn't have an appreciation for the way Eliot was lampooning everyday cat habits and making them poetic. Which, considering I had three cats at the time, shows a real lack of understanding on my part. Now, as an adult, I get it. It drives me crazy when my cat sits at a door, despite the functioning cat-flap, and waits for me to open it for him--only to reappear outside that same door within minutes, ready to repeat the procedure. Or, as Eliot puts it:

my own jellicle cat

"He's always on the wrong side of every door,
And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,
But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat--
And it isn't any use for you to doubt it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!"

Even though Eliot has made up words, like "jellicle" and "gumby cat", which didn't mean anything until he gave them a definition, these are not nonsense poems. For one thing, they are steeped in the characteristics and values of British society at the time (including a couple of racial, shall we say--'nicknames'--which prompted my, "this is a sign-of-the-times, but don't you dare let me hear you use these words" speech.) Gus the theatre (mind the spelling!) cat is familiar with all the standards of stage and pantomime. And Skimbleshanks the railway cat reminds me of one or two characters I used to know during my time working for the railway, hold-overs from the days when British Rail wasn't yet privatized. Above all, these poems capture the mystery behind a cat's inscrutable eyes; the sneaking suspicion that they've got a secret life we mere humans no nothing about. John Burningham touched upon this in last year's It's a Secret!  The mystery of the cat, practical or otherwise, continues to intrigue writers and readers alike.

10-10-10 Reading Challenge: Living Hell by Catherine Jinks

Okay--let's make one thing perfectly clear: I really hate the title of this book. It's schlocky and reminiscent of bad teenage slasher films. Having read the book, I understand why it's used. But.....truthfully....ick.

However, let's make something else perfectly clear; if we're going to sink to dodgy terminology...this book kicks ASS! And I am so glad I read it, because it was a breathless ride from start to finish that grabbed me by the throat and never let go.

I read this book for a number of reasons. 1) I snagged the ARC at ALA, so there was the thrill of reading something before anyone else had a chance (except, that is, for the citizens of Australia, where this book has already been released.) Catherine Jinks has been a popular author in the YA stacks at work. I thought this might be a good intro. 2) It's a sci-fi title, so it was suitable to read for the 10-10-10 Reading Challenge. 3) I brought it with me on holiday, and didn't expect to love it as I did, and had every intention of leaving it behind, thus lightening the return luggage load. Needless to say, it is in my possession still.

Here's the story in brief. The action takes place on board the Plexus, a space ship which left Earth years ago (few on board still remember the place.) The Plexus is more than just a ship; it is an intricately balanced vessel which doubles as the humans' life support system. Everything on board is finely tuned to care for the needs of the people, who exist in four year shifts, taking turns out of stasis to live and breed while they seek out a suitable planet on which to live. The protagonist of the story is Cheney, a 17 year old Second Shifter--although his body is really 33--who narrates the events leading up to and following the Plexus' fateful encounter with a stray radiation wave. The nine seconds in which it takes the Plexus to pass through that wave changes life on board the ship irreversibly. I don't want to reveal too much about what happens, because it's quite dramatic, but I will mention that the ship turns on the humans faster than you can say, "Frankenstein."


One of the strengths of this book, aside from the gripping storyline, is its cinematic feel. Jinks has described the action in such a way that is very easy to visualize. The sequence where the inhabitants of the Plexus are preparing for the encounter with the radiation wave reads like a screenplay, as each agonizing minute is counted down. The cast of characters is initially difficult to keep track of, but their systematic demise helps whittle them down for the reader. Cheney's crash-course maturity from teenager to leader of the human race is believable and heartbreaking. And written in glorious, gory technicolor. Seriously, someone make this a movie (just change the title, please.)

Like all good science fiction, this book is at its smartest when it tells us something about humanity. Our desire to play God never turns out well. In this case, it is more of a necessity than a whim, but the end result is the same. Themes of destiny and survival play out against the backdrop of disaster, much to the delight of this reader. Teens who like their sci-fi to be aggressive rather than cerebral will gravitate to this thriller, hellish title and all. And they won't be disappointed.

10-10-10 Reading Challenge: The Cay by Theodore Taylor

I read The Cay as part of the 10-10-10 Reading Challenge, in the category of Children's Books I'm Ashamed to Admit I've Never Read. I mean, even my brother, who avoided books at all costs as a child, read this book. And loved it! He even got my mom to read it! Whereas I, the brainiac who spent her afternoons at the library after school, and looked at the cover of this book many times as it looked down at me from the shelf........Never. Ever. Read it. Until now :)

The premise of the story is fairly straightforward: young Phillip Enright lives on Curaco with his mom and dad. His father works for Shell Oil and is needed on the island to aid in the war effort (the book takes place in 1942.) When Phillip and his mother attempt to leave the island, the ship they are on is torpedoed by a German U-boat and sinks. During the attack Phillip is knocked unconscious. When he comes to he is adrift on a raft with a large West Indian man, Timothy, and Stew Cat, the ship's cook's cat. They take refuge on a small, insignificant cay, which is unfortunately situated in a treacherous cove known to Timothy as Devil's Mouth. Marooned and eventually blind from a blow to his head sustained during the attack, Phillip is completely dependent on a man he was been raised to disdain.

There is a lot going on in this book besides the general imperative to survive in unfavorable conditions. While Phillip is not one of those 'horrible-kids-turned-good-through-adversity' characters (I think of the boy in Empire of the Sun,) he has preconceptions about Timothy, based mainly on what his mother has said. Phillip views Timothy as an old, ugly, uneducated black man who under normal circumstances would be subservient to him. And in fact, at the start of the story, Timothy addresses Phillip as "young bahss," maintaining what seems to be an accepted pecking order. But in reality, Timothy is a seasoned sailor with years of experience, and from the moment he rescues Phillip from the sea he devotes himself to protecting Phillip. His teaching method combines tough-love and practical know-how. Yet, while Phillip thinks he is becoming more and more dependent on Timothy because of his blindness, Timothy is in fact weaning the boy from his care, in the unthinkable event that he should ever have to survive on the cay alone.

This book could have been subtitled, "E is for Epihany" for most of the action takes place within Phillip's heart and mind, and is Timothy's greatest service to the boy, no matter how unintentional. Compact, compelling, and infused with a Calypso tang, I'm glad I finally read The Cay.